


Take A Risk

by survivewithoutanyone



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:03:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/survivewithoutanyone/pseuds/survivewithoutanyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss’ friends drag her to a bar where she runs into someone from her past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I can’t fucking believe I let them talk me into this.

I try not to subject myself to situations that require small talk and physical contact. Yet here I am in a bar a little bigger than the shack my family was forced to move into after my father died. There’s no pool table, no juke box and no dartboard. There is, however, a DJ and a dance floor. 

Great. This bar thinks it’s a night club.

There are five wooden high-top tables and stools lining the wall opposite the bar, ten regular-sized tables with chairs scattered in the center, and the dance floor, if you can really call it that, is on the far left side of the room.   
I doubt the maximum capacity for this place is above 80, yet there are probably 130 people in here, and 40 of them are dancing in a space not bigger than my bedroom.

Madge and Delly ran straight to the dance floor while Annie, Johanna and I decided to have a drink first. Now the four of them are grinding up against each other. Sober, I have no desires to allow some stranger to rub his body against mine while the smell of his sweat and body odor overwhelms my senses. I’d need to be very drunk for that to sound appealing.

And I’m not.

Instead, I’m sitting in the quietest spot at the end of the bar furthest from the dance floor and the crowd, nursing a scotch.  
I really don’t want to be here.

I recently ended a two-year relationship, and I just wanted to enjoy my first Friday night being single with a good book, comfy sweats and a mug of herbal tea.

My friends had other plans. After they finally convinced me to go to the bar with them, they tried to get me into one of Johanna’s sexy skin-tight dresses. Not in this lifetime. Besides, who would wear something like that to a bar? I chose my black skinny jeans, an olive green v-neck t-shirt, and a pair of black Converse. Now that I’m here, I regret my decision.  
I guess there are at least 130 people in Panem who would wear a skin-tight dress to a bar.

When I was still in college, I could go to a night club in a tank top, shorts and a pair of flip flops. Now that I’m older, I’m not only supposed to be more sophisticated, but I’m supposed to dress like it too. 

Fuck that.

“Ready for another shot?” Johanna breathes when she returns from the dance floor. I shrug.

“Sure.” 

“We want two Wet Pussies,” Johanna tells the bartender causing me to choke on my drink. Thankfully, I manage to keep it together.

I can’t imagine it feels great to have scotch come out of your nose. 

“I can help with that,” replies a cool voice from the other side of Johanna. I roll my eyes as I turn to look past her and tell the sleaze ball we’re not interested, but I’m met with a set of beautiful sea-foam green eyes set against perfectly smooth copper skin and contrasted by messy golden locks. If his crude comment hadn’t completely turned me off right now, I might be attracted to him, like Johanna so obviously is as she begins to flirt with him. 

He introduces himself as Finnick, and I raise my eyebrows and offer a tight smile in greeting while Johanna gives him our names. 

“I’m here with some friends, if you’d like to join us,” Finnick says, gesturing towards a couple of tables in the back. My eyes take in the large group of men. Some are flirting with a couple big-breasted blondes wearing halter-tops and crotch curtains while others are talking and laughing amongst themselves. As I observe the group, my gaze lands on one of them and I find him looking back at me, giving me a small smile. I quickly look away. 

“Well, Brainless?” Johanna inquires. 

“No. I’m good.” 

Johanna argues with me for five minutes after Finnick leaves before becoming exasperated. Before she walks away she orders, “You will dance before we leave tonight.”

Not even Johanna’s relentlessness is a match for my stubbornness.

I’m on my third scotch and watching my friends dance with Finnick and few of his friends when a slower song begins to play. It’s one I like, and it reminds me of a younger, more fearful version of myself, one who only let Gale in out of necessity. He could trap animals while I could hunt. Before then when we were on our own, our families were fed just enough to be kept alive. Once we began to work together, teaching each other our skills in exchange for the other, we were not just fed, we were healthy and strong.

As for Madge, she wormed her way in. She just sat down next to me at lunch on the first day of ninth grade, not muttering a single word. The next day she did the same thing. This went on for the whole school year. On the last full day of school, I brought strawberries with my lunch. She asked to trade them for her cookies from the bakery.

I never allowed anyone else in. I’d been afraid of letting people in, scared of caring so deeply about someone that even my own health wouldn’t matter, but more than anything, I was scared of losing myself, my sole existence requiring the presence of another and becoming a shell when that presence was gone. Just like my mother. 

Johanna stormed her way in by force when I met her in college. I hated her petulant questions about my personal life and my family, but once we found out how much we had in common we gained an understanding of one another. She’d lost everything that mattered to her, lost even more than I had. When she told me she’d rather feel anguish and heartbreak again than to live the rest of her life feeling nothing at all, that’s when I began to let others in.

Johanna hasn’t stopped pushing me to take a risk since.

The song’s coming to an end when I notice the guy that smiled at me earlier is standing next to me, waiting for the bartender.   
I wonder how long he’s been there.

He’s a little taller than me, with wide shoulders, thick muscular arms, and solid hands. I sneak a furtive glance up at his profile and notice his sandy blonde curls. He has a strong, angular jaw. His features are rugged and soft at the same time.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he comments, and I can feel my neck and cheeks heat up. Was I singing?

He turns his head towards me, and I now notice his piercing blue eyes are like the edge of a piece of broken glass, outlined in a sapphire blue. These eyes are familiar, but I can’t quite figure out why. 

When he clears his throat, I realize I must’ve been staring for too long. I drop my head down, finding interest in the last swallow of scotch I have left.

“You always had a beautiful voice though; it could make the birds stop to listen,” he says softly and at this, I snap my head up at him, narrowing my eyes. When would he have heard my voice?

“You don’t recognize me.” He smiles with laughter in his eyes. 

“Should I?”

“Aren’t you Katniss Everdeen?” he teases while my eyes go wide. “It’s me, Katniss. Peeta Mellark.”

For the second time tonight, I nearly choke on my drink. I haven’t seen Peeta in seven years. Not since high school graduation. We never talked then although he did help me—and my family— once.

We had just moved into the small shack. We had no money, no food, and my mom hadn’t spoken or worked since my dad died; in fact, she’d barely left her bed. I was eleven and my sister, Prim, was eight. It’d already been nearly two days since we’d eaten so I took the silver necklace with the emerald pendant my father had bought me for my tenth birthday to the pawnshop across the street from the bakery. I was only given twenty dollars in exchange for it, but I knew I could get enough food to last a couple weeks with that. 

I walked across the street to the bakery, planning to buy a day-old loaf of bread. I knew I should have checked to see who was working before I went inside, but the floury smell of fresh bread and the scent of the sugar and vanilla from the pastries was too strong, not having eaten in over 48 hours. When I walked in, I barely got to enjoy the warmth before Mrs. Mellark told me she didn’t welcome “Seam Trash” in her store. When I tried to explain that I had money, she haughtily stated that she was not giving any discounts and that I needed to leave and stay away from her property.

I was too weak to argue. She was a bitch to everyone, whether you had money or not, unless she wanted something substantial from you. 

It was quite a walk to get to the grocery store, and I was tired so I sat down for a few minutes in an attempt to regain some strength. I heard the bakery door open, and I thought it would be Mrs. Mellark.

But it wasn’t. It was Peeta. He had a trash bag in one hand and small paper bag in the other. He handed me the paper bag quickly as he walked towards the dumpsters. He didn’t look me in the eye, just muttered, “Leave” as he walked past me. I made it all the way home before I opened the bag and found a loaf of bread, six cheese buns and a dozen cookies. I had no idea why Peeta would do that or how he even managed to do it, but I was grateful.

The next school day I found my necklace inside my desk, and he had a black eye. 

I never gained the courage to thank him personally. We caught each other staring a few times over the next seven years, but each time our gazes met one of us would look away.

Now here he is, standing in front of me, and he’s gorgeous. It dawns on me that I still haven’t uttered more than two words to him.

“How’ve you been, Peeta?” I don’t think I’ve ever heard my voice so small and unsure.

“Good. I’ve been good. I teach seventh and eighth grade art now.”

“Wow. Have you always liked art?” I search my memory, but I can’t remember him ever showing an interest in art. Wrestling and baking, yes. Art? No. 

“Yeah. I used to draw and paint in high school, but my mom didn’t approve.” The corners of his lips tug downward into a pained frown, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, his bright smile returning. “What have you been up to?”

“I work in Human Resources, which is a headache, but it pays the bills.”

“How’s your sister?”

“She’s great. She’s finishing up school to be an RN. She’s been dating Gale’s younger brother, Rory, for a few years now.”

“Oh, are you and Gale still together?” I can’t help the laughter that escapes my throat at his question. This is not the first time someone has assumed Gale and I were together, but it is the first time I’ve heard it in years.

“He and I were never together. Just friends. Madge and Gale are a different story.” I don’t miss the way his eyes light up, and his smile widens at my admission.

“If I’d known that, I would’ve tried talking to you back then,” he says as he dips he head closer to mine.

I tilt my head to side, perplexed. “What do you mean?” I almost whisper. I’m pretty sure I already know the answer. My skin is tingling, and I’m suddenly aware of how intimately close we are to one another.

“You really don’t know? Katniss, I had a crush on you the first day of kindergarten, and it never went away.” I can’t help the smile that forms on my face at his admission as I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I know I have to take a risk right now. Before I can wimp out, I hear Johanna’s voice telling me to go for it.

“Peeta, do you want to dance?” 

“I’d love to dance with you, Katniss, except I’m not much of a dancer, and it’s really noisy in here. How about we go get a cup of coffee?” 

“Sounds perfect.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Streetlightlove1 asked for a continuation of this forever ago, so I'm posting this in honor of her birthday.
> 
> Street, my bffl, I love you and hope you had the best fucking birthday ever!
> 
> Big thanks to Court for betaing this for me. I don't know what I would do without you. ILY!
> 
> Also, thank you to Kika for the email full of inspiration ;) and for pre-reading. You're awesome.

Peeta’s hand envelops my own, as he pulls me to my feet while I down the last of the fruity cocktail Johanna had ordered me before she went off dancing with Finnick. My eyes find my friends as Peeta ushers me to the door, and I briefly consider letting them know I’m leaving when I catch Delly glance my way. 

Her eyes narrow at Peeta’s hand on the small of my back before she slowly pulls away from the tall, golden-skinned man she’s dancing with and takes a step towards us. I know it must shock her to see me leaving with someone I’ve seemingly just met, and I’m thankful to her for wanting to make sure I’m okay, but I don’t want the lecture I know she’ll give me, and I don’t want to explain how I know Peeta. 

I just want to leave this fucking bar.

Which is why I’m completely grateful when I see Johanna place a hand on Del’s shoulder, shaking her head. She sends me a wink and gestures to the door with a slight nod as if she’s telling me, “Get the fuck out of here.” I smile internally and jerk my head in response.

Once I step into the sharp, cool night air, apprehension sets in. Isn’t coffee code for sex? What am I getting myself into?

Peeta, obviously unaware of my inner turmoil, keeps his hand on my back and leads me towards a white Tacoma. “There’s a cafe by my house that will be quiet at this hour, with good food and good coffee,” he says as he opens the door for me. His wide smile is so bright and genuine that it’s enough to calm my nerves. I smile and allow him to help me into his truck. 

Once inside, I try to inspect my surroundings, but the spotless interior of the truck doesn’t give me much insight to its owner. All that’s visible is a phone charger and CD case. I’m only a little disappointed.

My ex-boyfriend Cato’s car was always filled with empty soda cans, trash from whatever fast-food restaurants he’d eaten at that week and even a fucking condom wrapper once, which he claimed wasn’t his. 

“Is my truck offending you?” I hear Peeta ask. I frown at him, confused by his question.

“You were scowling at my dashboard,” he says, clearly amused. 

“Oh. Sorry, I was lost in thought. Do you live around here?” I inquire, hoping he doesn’t ask what I was thinking about. He doesn’t disappoint me.

“I live about fifteen minutes from here. You?”

“My apartment’s just a couple blocks away.”  
We spend the rest of the car ride not speaking, the local pop station playing on the radio with the volume turned down low. 

~

When we pull into the parking lot of a liquor store, I’m confused until he parks his truck in the farthest stall, and I see a small brick building with the words ‘Sae’s Cafe’ written on the windows of the wooden double doors.

Inside, the diner is warm and homey. It reminds me a lot of the diner back home, and I wonder if that’s why Peeta likes it so much—if it’s the reason he’s brought me here. The aroma from the several pots of coffee they’ve brewed and served throughout the day is mixed with a faint scent of bacon and some sort of meat stew. It’s softly lit, and each table is adorned with a blue gingham tablecloth and a single white rose in a small blue vase. The salt and pepper shakers are all unique, some shaped like animals, others shaped like fruits or vegetables, and I spot one table with Mr. and Mrs. Claus on it, even though it’s March.

Peeta doesn’t wait for us to be seated, leading me to a booth at the very back left hand corner, picking up a menu from the hostess station on the way. He waits for me to slide in before placing the menu on the table in front of me and taking his own seat on the other side.

“If you’re hungry, I recommend the stew.” 

Before I can respond, a little old woman with gray hair and a weathered face is at our table hugging Peeta. 

“I haven’t seen you around much lately, boy. I was starting to think you’d gone over to that new diner down the street,” the woman teases.

“No one’s Earl Grey is as good as yours, Sae.” Peeta grins. 

“Mmhmm. Just tea tonight, or do you want a bowl of stew also?”

“Please. Katniss?” Peeta responds, looking at me.

“A cup of coffee, please. And creamer.”

Sae nods with a smile before walking away. 

We sit in somewhat of an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. What the fuck do you say to someone you’ve known almost your entire life, but yet have never spoken directly to?

As if he can read my thoughts, Peeta says, “So, do you think it’s weird that we grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, had almost all the same classes together, and I don’t even know what your favorite color is?”   
I smile before replying, “Green. Like the forest. Yours?”

“Orange. A soft orange, like the sunset.”

“Did you continue wrestling when you went into college?” This is what I always wondered about Peeta. I remember attending a few wrestling matches in school with Madge and Gale. The only person at our school who Peeta couldn’t beat was his brother, Rye. I also remember Peeta missing several days of school for state competitions 

“Nah. I wasn’t really interested once it became more about competition and less about having fun. My mother sure did enjoy flaunting the medals to anyone who would walk in our house, though.” 

Conversation flows easily after that. He doesn’t say much more about his mother, but tells me about his brother, Rye, taking over the bakery back home. He says he doesn’t see much of his oldest brother, Brandon, who’s married and has three boys of his own now, except during the holiday season.

I tell him how proud I am of Prim. How hard it was for her to convince me to leave. To convince me that her and Mom would be fine without me. It hurt to hear her say those words at first, but I knew with Mom getting better and Rory spending so much time at the house it was true. 

He tells me about his girlfriend in college. I tell him about Cato. He tells me stories of how he met Finnick and the crazy things they’ve done, both in college and since. I share a little of bit of my friendship of Johanna, mostly talking about how she dragged me to that fucking bar.

“I’m glad she dragged you to that fucking bar,” Peeta whispers. I look down at my empty cup of coffee as my face flushes. When I look back up and see the adoration written on Peeta’s face, his gaze so intense that looking into his crystal blue eyes is like looking into a mirro, my mouth becomes dry. 

“Ready to go?” Peeta asks. Before I can do so much as nod, Peeta stands, taking my hand and pulling me out of the diner. He stops abruptly and faces me once we’re outside. He cups my cheek in his hand, rubbing his thumb over my lips. He gently presses his lips against mine, and it’s so brief I think I’ve imagined it. Before he can pull away completely, I thread my fingers through the small curls at the back of head, opening my mouth to him. He fists my shirt at my waist, sliding his tongue leisurely across mine. When he plunges his tongue further into my mouth, a small moan escapes my throat and I feel his grip tighten. I press my hips forward in response, causing him to grunt as his hands lower to my ass while I wrap my legs around his waist and grind against the bulge in his pants. He groans as he pulls away, biting my lip gently before putting me down. I miss the contact immediately, but the chill reminds me where we are.

“Come home with me.” It’s not a question, but Peeta says it too softly to be a demand. “Sorry. Too fast,” he backtracks, shaking his head. “Let me take you home. Er...your home, I mean. I’ll drop you off then I’ll go to my own home.” His shoulders slump over, and he begins running his hands over his face. The sight makes me want to laugh, but this is the first time I’ve wanted someone this badly. The first time the thought of being with someone so soon hasn’t had me running in the opposite direction. 

~

So instead I say, “I’d like to see your apartment.” Peeta’s mouth hangs open as he stares at me for a moment with wide eyes. He turns, striding to the truck and I think I see the corners of his mouth turn up.

Peeta’s apartment is what I expected. Like his truck, nothing is out of place, and instead of mismatched furniture from Ikea, like I and everyone else I know has, his furniture looks like it came directly from a showroom. 

A wide, oak entertainment center takes up a greater part of the wall sharing the front entrance. A slate-blue sectional sofa, accented in burnt orange, is centered in the room, with a coffee table made from the same wood as the entertainment center. There’s a sliding glass door, draped in a soft orange, leading onto a balcony. Two breakfast bars, one on each side, separate the kitchen from the living room and the dining room.

Peeta hangs his keys on a hook above the breakfast bar in the living room. He walks into the kitchen, pulling out two glasses from a cabinet next to the refrigerator.

“Um. Alcohol, coffee, then more alcohol? Or would you prefer water? Or something else? I think I have some wine.” He looks at his refrigerator, as if it could confirm his thoughts. Maybe he can see through it.

“Water’s good.”

He pours us each a glass of water, swallowing his down quickly while I sip mine. I stare at my glass, unsure of how to proceed. We both know I didn’t come here for a glass of water. Peeta leans against the counter, arms crossed, one leg bent, with his foot resting on the cupboard behind him. His head is tilted and his lips pressed together, gazing at me under furrowed brows, causing me to squirm.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually do this,” I admit, unable to meet his eyes.

“Don’t do what? We don’t have to do anything. You know that, right, Katniss?” he whispers, placing his hands on either side of my face, forcing me to make eye contact. He places a chaste kiss on my forehead after I nod.

“Come on,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, “let me give you the tour.” He takes us a down a small hallway, opening a door halfway down on the left. 

“This is my office.” He grins. It’s not really an office. It’s an art studio. The walls are painted various shades of orange from a deep red-orange to a soft peach with streaks of pink and purple peaking through. A sunset. 

There’s a large window with just a sheer white curtain covering it. A plush chair is placed off-center on one side of the room, an easel placed on the other side, and a desk is in the corner, littered with several sketchbooks. 

Next to the easel sits a shelved cart filled with paints: watercolors on one shelf, oil paints on another, acrylics on another, all in correct order, according to a color wheel. Paintbrushes sit in a cup on the top of it. Plastic storage cases around the room hold pastels, colored pencils, graphite pencils and markers. What looks like a metal tool chest sits in a another corner of the room, I assume holding even more art supplies. 

The most fascinating thing about this room are the pictures hung up on the walls. A painting of three golden-haired boys playing in the snow. A young, dark-skinned girl sleeping in a bed of flowers, rendered in chalk. A colored pencil drawing of a dandelion. And a sketch of a girl wearing a scowl on her face and a braid in her hair. Me. 

Confused, I turn to look at Peeta.

“I told you. I’ve had a crush on you for forever.” His shoulders hunch over. “Are you mad?”

I know I probably should be. We don’t know each other. Not really. Before tonight we’d barely spoken two words to one another. He sketched me without my knowledge, kept it all these years, and now has it hanging on a wall in his home.

I should think it’s fucking creepy.

Maybe it’s the memory of the bread. Maybe it’s the bruise on his cheek that day, or the necklace on my desk. Maybe it’s the strong connection I feel to him now. Or maybe it’s because I know I paid attention to him back then, too. I’m not creeped out or mad. I am a little flattered. But mostly I’m confused.

“I don’t understand why. There’s nothing really special about me.” I shrug.

“You really have no idea. No idea the effect you have,” he whispers, shaking his head. I wrap my arms around his neck and place a light kiss on his lips. I feel him hesitate at first and then rest his hands on my hips.

“Show me.” I press my lips against his again, and this time he responds immediately, opening his mouth to me. I coax his tongue into my mouth, and he takes over, exploring my mouth with a mild caress of his tongue. A small moan starts in the back of my throat, and he quickens his pace.

In one swift movement, he lifts me, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist, and I slide against his erection.

“Let me show you the rest of the tour,” Peeta murmurs against my lips. And then he moves.

“That’s the bathroom.” He gestures with the hand not holding me to the room across the hall. 

“This is my bedroom,” he says when I feel him open a door. His lips move down to my neck.

“And this is my bed.” He lays me down softly and hovers over me. He tugs my earlobe into his mouth. I moan, bucking my hips against him. He grinds back against me lazily. I turn my head seeking his lips. He allows it. I need more.

I start undoing the buttons on his crisp, white shirt, whimpering when he pulls away to remove it. In the moonlight, I can see how the white undershirt clings to him, giving me a glimpse of his sculpted muscles. Then he’s back, and my hands immediately inch up his arms to feel his biceps flex underneath my fingers while he holds his body above mine. He rolls over, pulling me with him so I’m on top. His fingers draw small circles on my back while we kiss. 

I lean up to remove my top, sending a silent thank you to Johanna for convincing me to do some lingerie shopping after my break-up. Instead of the old worn out bras with rips or stains on them that usually wear, I’m wearing a teal lace bra with matching panties. Once I’ve thrown off my shirt, Peeta grabs my hands, lacing our fingers together and pulling me down, our hands above his head. 

“So perfect.” His lips seek mine, but I keep them a breath away from him while I grind down on him. He chuckles softly before flipping us back over. He kisses me one last time, his tongue sliding against mine, massaging the roof of my mouth before sucking on my bottom lip and breaking the kiss. He moves back to my neck, down my collarbone, to the top of my breasts. He cups one in his hand while his teeth graze the nipple of the other through the thin fabric. When his mouth moves to the other, his arms wrap behind my back. I barely feel his fingers graze the clasp on my bra before it’s removed.

“Beautiful,” Peeta murmurs. He takes a bare nipple into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth. He pulls away, blowing on it softly, the sensation causing my clit to pulse with need. I moan loudly. His fingers dance down my torso until they’re at the waistband of my jeans. 

“May I?”

“Please,” I whimper. He laughs quietly. He moves between my legs, pressing a kiss against my stomach above my jeans before removing them. He lays next to me, kissing me as his fingers lightly graze my folds through my underwear. I buck my hips, trying to create friction where I need it. I clutch his wrist, trying to direct him where I want him. His erection is firmly pressed into my hip, and he slips his fingers underneath my panties, gathering the wetness before pressing on my clit. I clutch onto neck with one hand his arm with the other as he causes me to fall apart with his fingers.

“I want to see that again,” he says once my breathing returns to normal.”But this time I’m gonna use my mouth.” 

“Next time,” I breathe, my chest heaving. “Right now, please fuck me.” 

Peeta moves off the bed again. I watch as he takes off his undershirt and his jeans. He opens a drawer and is back at the edge of the bed, removing his boxer briefs. I consider his length as he removes my panties and rolls the condom over it. He crawls over me, his cock pressed against my entrance.

“Katniss,” he whispers, kissing me softly. “You sure?’

“Yes,” I reply, bucking against him. His hands pin my hips, and he slides in slowly, then out, repeating the agonizing torture, going deeper with each thrust. 

“Peeta, please.”

“Please what, Katniss,” he groans into my ear.

“Faster.” His pace increases slightly, but it’s still not enough. He rolls his hips with each thrust, making my need grow.

“Peeta!” I cry.

“I’ve wanted this for years, Katniss. I’m going to take my time.” His lips latch onto the hollow of my throat. I wrap my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his hips in attempt to gain some control. My nails dig into his shoulders, and he groans as his thrusts pick up pace. 

“Oh god. Peeta,” I pant.

“You feel so good, Katniss.” I close my eyes as I climb towards ecstasy. “Look at me, Katniss.” So I do. The lust of his hooded eyes and the snap of his hips sends me over the precipice. I cry out, and Peeta swallows my moans, sliding his tongue against mine with the same languid movements of his thrusts while I clench around him through my orgasm. My body is still shuddering when I feel his cock twitch, and he lets out a guttural moan as he find his release., collapsing on top of me. Neither of us move as we come down from the post-coital bliss. He places one chaste kiss on my lips as he slides out of me, and I immediately miss the contact. 

“Don’t move,” he whispers, leaving the room without even putting on a pair of boxers. I’m exhausted, my body spent. My eyelids feel too heavy to keep open.

I don’t how long I lay here, but I’m jarred awake by the sound of a window opening. Peeta walks toward the bed, his boxers back on and kneels between my legs with tissues to clean me. He crawls next to me, picking up a glass of water on the nightstand and handing it to me.

“Do you need me to take you home now?” he asks, and I think I hear sadness in his tone. 

“Can I just stay?” I ask, placing the glass back on the nightstand. 

“Always,” he replies smiling. Then he settles himself behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest, his lips pressed into my neck. Sleep overtakes me within minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta, Court, for fixing all my mistakes in such a speedy time frame.


End file.
